Returner
by Sylla
Summary: Abel returns to Albion after finally having defeated Cain, only to rediscover someone whom he thought he had forgotten. Speculation fic. AbelxEsther oneshot, full series spoilers.


**Author's Note:** Well, being new to the fandom (though not new to writing) I'm obviously a little worried about characterization, etc, since this is my first Trinity Blood fanfic. So, reviews of all types are appreciated (flames laughed at) and concrit worshiped.

Anyway, this fic in particular is thanks to Sargent Snarky, who inspired me with a wonderful discussion on Trinity Blood. (Thank you, Snarky!) Of course, how could my first contribution to the TB fandom be anything other than an AbelxEsther fic? I am, in all honesty, absolutely in love with that pairing. (And what's more, they're canon—you know it's true, just look at the anime ending credits. See? I thought so.)

Also, I'm not sure exactly why I chose 'Returner' as a title. (Is it even a word?) Just sounded cool, I guess. :P

**Warnings:** AbelxEsther, much unabashed fluff, and full series spoilers for the anime. This is obviously a speculation fic, since the end of the story hasn't been released yet. :P

**Disclaimer:** Trinity Blood was originally a series of novels created by Yoshida Sunao (RIP), was made into a manga by Thores Shibamoto, and is now an anime produced by GONZO. Since I am none of the above three, I don't own Trinity Blood.

Edit 24/12/09: Went back and changed the hyphens to dashes. (En dashes, because variety is the spice of life.) Also—hopefully—fixed some tense problems.

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**Trinity Blood**

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_Returner_

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How long has it been, he wonders silently to himself. Five years? Ten? Somewhere in his subconscious, he knows, that number must be kept – but wherever it is, it remains elusively hidden, and it doesn't really matter, because the years are meaningless to someone who doesn't age or die. (Perhaps Ion knows what year it is, anyway.)

Five years, or ten, and he still can't quite bring himself to believe it's finally over. He supposes he should be feeling some sense of accomplishment, or relief, or guilt, even – after all, he killed his brother, and no amount of justification will ever change that – but he just feels... dazed. Tired. Disjointed, almost- like some fundamental sense of purpose has been suddenly cut away from him, and now he's moving like in a half-dream.

He's not quite sure what he's doing here in Londinium, either. What _they're_ doing in Londinium, he supposes it should be, but he thinks they both know this side trip was because of him. (Though Ion didn't seem all that reluctant about it, either, he recollects.) The skies are dim and overcast in true Albion form, and he knows it's important that they travel on to Rome to tell His Holiness the good news (_Good news? Really?_) – but there's something they – or he, he can't quite decide which – have to do here first.

(Albion was closer anyway, he thinks.)

A foppish young man at the palace gates refused them entry. He looked down his nose at their travel-stained selves and decided that there was _absolutely no way _he could, in all good conscience, let a couple of down-at-the-heels vagabonds such as themselves have an audience with the Queen, and did they _really_ expect him to believe they were acquaintances of hers, anyway?

He had to put a warning hand on Ion's shoulder to stop him from announcing just who he was to the world in general, because Lord knew _that_ would definitely cause more problems than it would solve, having a Methuselah (_bloody vampire_ according to the guards) turn up at the palace gates and ask to see the Queen. No, that _definitely_ wouldn't have been the best course of action.

Which is how he comes to find himself where he was now, perched on the stone balustrade of the balcony to the Queen's apartments, still unsure of exactly what he is doing there But he slips in through the paned glass doors anyway, and stands waiting in the dark, looking out at the moon that drifts out from behind the clouds. Presently one of the large oak double-doors behind him opens slightly, spilling warm light across the dark red carpet. Behind him, someone gasps.

"A–Abel?!"

The rich, musical voice causes him to turn around. He sees the radiant young lady standing in the doorway and opens his mouth to say, _Sorry, I'm afraid you have the advantage of me_– only to realize that it's Esther, _his_ Esther, standing regally in the doorway, eyes wide with surprise, and framed by the light from the hall so that it almost looks like a halo. In that instant there are so many things he wants to say that, true to form, he smiles gently and says:

"Hello Esther – Your Majesty."

As if his words have broken a spell on her, with a strangled sob she rushes to him and locks her arms around him in a most un-queenly fashion, but in a way that is purely Esther. Caught by surprise, there is little he can do but hug her back; she clasps him so tightly he can almost hear his ribs creak. One hand finds itself stroking her hair. She's repeating his name over and over again, voice muffled because she has her face pressed into his chest (she probably can't quite believe he's here, either, he thinks), and before he can stop himself he murmurs, "Shh, I'm here, E– Your Majesty."

"Don't call me that, Abel," she whispers, face still against his chest, and he smiles ever so slightly for a moment even though she cannot see it.

"It's done, Esther," he says then somberly, softly. "Cain is dead."

She looks up at him, eyes wide with disbelief.

"Then... it's finished?" she says, and he nods.

"For the most part," he replies. Then, for once, he indulges himself and drinks in the face of a girl he hasn't seen in five (or ten) years. Except she's fully a woman, now, and it's almost painfully obvious; what was once a raw, coltish beauty is now fuller, tempered – her face has lost, to some extent, that youthful roundness and has become more defined... But her innocent gaze that hides more than a hint of an iron will and unstoppable determination hasn't changed, and for that he is grateful.

He suddenly becomes acutely aware of exactly how close they are, and he attempts to draw away slightly, only to be impeded by the death grip she seems to have on his waist.

"Ion's in the city, too," he says softly. He isn't sure what compels him to say it, but the change in her is immediate. She stiffens and releases him, looking off to one side and refusing to meet his eye.

"Oh," she says, "I... I see..." she is hesitant, and he continues without knowing why.

"He's been looking forward to seeing you, you know." Her mouth forms a little 'o' of not-quite-surprise, and she raises one hand to her chest in a gesture of uncertainty

"I suppose – I'll arrange an audience..." she seems unsure what to say now, and something inside him seems to break a little when he sees that her cheeks are splashed with pink – damn him and his Crusnik-enhanced sight, he curses inwardly. He gazes at her for a moment more, lost for words, and then he steels himself because he knows this time there will be a farewell – and Lord knows but he doesn't _want_ to leave now.

"I should go now," he says, and starts to turn to leave the way he came- only to stop again at her next words.

"No – don't!" The vehemency with which she says it surprises him, and he finds her arms around him again. "Don't leave, Abel," and she is almost – but not quite – pleading.

"But you know I can't stay," he reminds her gently. "You are the Queen of Albion, and I – I, a mere traveling priest." He moves to unlock her arms from around him, but she tightens them still more and shakes her head fiercely, and she is no more the Queen of Albion but just Esther, asking him to_ stay, please._

"I never asked for this – I'd give it all up if you asked me to!" she declares.

"You don't mean that," he tells her with a bittersweet smile, and knows what he says is true – she is not so selfish that she'd forsake her kingdom and her subjects just to be with him, of all people. But it's the fact that she would make such an offer that at once terrifies him and sets his heart to racing.

"But I can't – I can't just watch you leave again; you have no idea how hard it was last time, not even being able to say good bye, waiting for some indication that you were alive and receiving none!" Her voice is breaking with emotion.

"You must," he says, and he looks into her eyes and sees that her heart is breaking, too. "I must journey on to Rome with Ion, and then to the Empire, to tell everyone the news," he says, "and you must stay here. There may still be remnants of the Rosenkreuz Orden causing trouble, and you will be safe here."

"Then promise me – promise you'll return to me!" she whispers, and now she _is_ pleading, but she doesn't care. She is looking up at him, searching for the slightest indication that he might say yes, until their faces are a hairbreadth apart—

—and then before he can even stop himself to think it through, his lips are on hers in a gentle, bittersweet kiss.

She gasps and, realizing what he has done, he pulls away, eyes wide with surprise just like hers are, and he tries to say _sorry, sorry,_ but he never gets the chance because she closes the distance between them once again, wraps her arms around his neck and pulls him in for another kiss.

"Promise me," she whispers against him lips.

"I promise," he whispers right back.

Then they separate once again, but he holds her close and, slipping one hand to her waist and the other to the back of her neck, he kisses her again, and then again, because he can't get enough of the way she tastes, a slight hint of cinnamon and something sweet like sugar and something else that is purely her – _and well_, he thinks to himself, _she started it._

Then at last they really do separate, faces slightly flushed and breathing heavily, and she rests her head against his chest and gives a sigh of contentment; and there they stand in the moonlight.

"Abel," she says after a while, "when you left... what I regretted most was that I never got to tell you how much you meant to me – how much you still mean to me." She hugs him tighter. "You saved me, Abel – I mean it. You saved me in more ways than I can count."

He smiles and breathes deep, inhaling her scent.

"Would it be terribly dramatic if I said you returned the favor?" he says. She shakes her head, smiling, and they are silent again. Presently he bends slightly and whispers into her ear:

"I love you, Esther." And she shivers pleasantly at those words. But he continues, saying, "But now I must leave – before Ion misses me, if nothing else."

She sighs, but releases him. He smiles and kisses her, one last time or three, and she murmurs, "I love you." He smiles again, and then he steps back to the edge of the balcony.

With a graceful leap, he vaults over the edge of the balustrade and is quickly lost into the night – but this time it's all right.

This time she knows he will return.

_-Finis-_

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...

If fluff were a sin I'd be going straight to hell for this one. But _I regret nothing!_ It's all worth it to spread the AbelxEsther love! (waves AbelxEsther shipping flag)

So anyway, there you have it, my first AbelxEsther oneshot, just shy of two thousand words. I sincerely hope you enjoyed reading it, 'cause I sure as hell enjoyed writing it.

And before I leave, anyone who is interested in a really good series of AbelxEsther fics should check out _Milk Tea & Thirteen Sugars_ by **Darth Stitch**. Wonderful stuff, that.

As a side note, my spell checker keeps insisting that 'oneshot' should be 'unissued'. Ah, the marvels of Windows...

_Help show your support of the AbelxEsther cause by clicking on the 'Review this Story/Chapter' button to your left!_ :D


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